


A New York Christmas

by Miss Direction (msk)



Series: The Orphan Bond Stories [6]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, tiny hint of hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msk/pseuds/Miss%20Direction
Summary: “If you have to be stuck in town over Christmas, New York is a pretty great place to be.  I was thinking about taking a day and doing some of the things I did with my father when I was young.”
Series: The Orphan Bond Stories [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/151748
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	A New York Christmas

December 1967

“Have a holly, jolly Christmas, it’s the best time of the year,” Burl Ives sang as lab rats danced with secretaries at the R and D Christmas party. The secretaries as well as a few translators and phone operators had been imported from other departments since girls were in short supply in R and D. 

Clair Donovan, the only female lab rat, had been a hot commodity for the largely awkward male scientists. She’d begged off as Charlie, the other lab newbie had asked her to dance for the third time. 

Somebody had clamped lab stands and support arms together to display an arrangement of variously shaped beakers and test tubes filled with brightly colored fluids in the general shape of a Christmas tree. It was at once whimsical and nerdy, the perfect decoration for this party. 

A large bowl of red punch sat on the lab counter next to the “chemis-tree.” Clair dippered out some punch and poured it into one of the squat beakers gathered at the base of the bowl. She took a sip and coughed as it burned all the way down her throat.

“Is it spiked?” Illya asked at her side. She hadn’t noticed his arrival at the party. 

“I think it’s got turpentine in it,” she replied, turning to him. “Hey, I didn’t know you were in town. Last I heard you were in Brussels.”

“We got in last night,” he said. “I ran into Dr. Bryson earlier today and he invited me to the party.”

“Well you are, after all, an honorary lab rat,” she said. 

As Illya poured himself a beaker of punch, Clair spied a flash of white under the cuff of his black turtleneck. With one finger, she pushed his sleeve up a bit to reveal a white bandage around his wrist.

“Is there a similar bandage around the other one?”

“I’m fine,” he said, tugging the cuffs down over the bandages. 

“I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me. But you know I worry about you.” 

And she apparently had good reason to worry. Before she’d taken the position in the lab, she’d worried about her friends' dangerous work. Now working in the same building, she saw the condition in which both Illya and Napoleon returned all too often from their assignments. It was far worse than she had imagined.

“It’s kind of you to be concerned about me,” Illya said with a sigh. “But you will exhaust yourself worrying about things over which neither of us have control. Napoleon and I do our best to stay safe, but our jobs are dangerous.”

“I know,” she said, looking down at her punch. “It was just easier to deal with when I wasn’t in a front row seat.”

Illya took a swallow from his beaker and grimaced. “Tastes like the remains of a science experiment.”

“Well the boys were working with formaldehyde this morning.”

“What are you working on these days?” Illya asked. “Nothing formaldehyde related I hope.”

“I’m on the enzymatic tracking project. The prototype is promising, but there is so much more work needed.”

“I’ve heard about this,” he said. “A dissolvable device that reacts with stomach enzymes to allow us to track location. It has a lot of advantages over subcutaneous devices. It sounds fascinating.”

“Oh, it is. We’ve taken to calling it the ‘magic pill.’ We want to improve the duration of the tracking signal from 12 to 48 hours. But the big issue is deployment timing; it takes too long to activate. And we still have to control for different digestive system conditions. But enough shop talk,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Will you have some time off for the holidays?” 

“Theoretically,” he said. “We’re never truly off duty, but there is a rota and Napoleon and I are a long way down the list this year. How about you?”

“As the newest hires, Charlie and I are on duty during the holidays. We will be taking turns manning the ongoing experiments in the lab and on call the rest of the time in case there is an emergency. We have to have communicators with us at all times. That part is kind of exciting.” 

“The thrill of being tied to a communicator loses its luster very quickly, I’m afraid. I hope you can enjoy yourself on the off days.”

“If you have to be stuck in town over Christmas, New York is a pretty great place to be. I was thinking about taking a day and doing some of the things I did with my father when I was young.” 

“That sounds like fun. Will Mary Grace go with you?” Mary Grace Denton, Clair’s boarding school roommate and a New York based stewardess was enormous fun to be with, but rarely in town due to her work schedule. 

“Unfortunately, she is working a bunch of European flights the week before Christmas and then skiing in Gstaad over the actual holiday, lucky duck. I’m afraid I’ll be on my own.”

“The young man currently glaring at me would undoubtedly be happy to accompany you,” Illya said, tilting his head in Charlie’s direction. Charlie was, indeed, looking daggers at Illya, which seemed a foolish thing to do. Perhaps he didn’t realize Illya was a Section 2 agent and could neutralize an adversary in 20 seconds or less.

“Charlie would love it, but fortunately he and I will be off duty on alternate days. Not to mention, I try not to encourage him. He’s a sweet guy, but a bit puppyish. And I’ve made a firm rule against dating anyone from the lab.”

“That’s wise,” Illya said. “It might be uncomfortable if things don’t go well. So what were you planning for your Christmas in New York day?”

“Well, when I was small, my dad took me to see the Nutcracker. I think I’m going to pass on that. Too many restless little girls in black velvet dresses holding ballerina dolls. The Rockettes might be fun, but I doubt there are tickets left. I definitely want to look at the decorations in the store windows and go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“I should have a free day before Christmas. I could come with you.”

“Would you? Really?” Clair asked. “That would be lovely.” In truth, she hadn’t been looking forward to tracing her childhood footsteps on her own alongside the ghost of her father.

They agreed to meet at the ice rink on December 23rd, at 11 o’clock in the morning. Clair dressed in boots, heavy black tights, a black and red plaid skirt and a warm red sweater. The day was cold but sunny so she’d topped her outfit with a short black leather jacket. 

She spotted Illya lounging against the railing, watching the skaters. He was wearing his typical black turtleneck and black trousers with a tan shearling lined jacket over all. She stood for a moment, enjoying the sight of her beautiful friend. 

“Thank you for doing this with me,” Clair said as she joined him at the railing. The sunlight glinted off the huge statue of Prometheus. Behind the statue stood the magnificent Christmas tree, 65 feet tall and trimmed with lights and dainty bells.

“It’s pretty busy down there,” Illya said. “We should get on queue.”

They descended to the rink, bought tickets and rented skates. The two friends waited their turn and then finally put on skates and stashed their shoes and jackets in the lockers. 

Finally, they stepped onto the ice. Illya took her hand as they pushed off in unison. As they glided around the rink, he smiled at her. “You are quite good.”

“There was a big pond behind the school that froze in the winter. Everyone skated, even the nuns!” Illya moved gracefully over the ice, as comfortable on skates as others were barefoot. “Where did you learn to skate like this?” she asked.

“I attended a special school when I was young. We were exposed to different sports to determine if we had ability. I was a good skater and they groomed me for speed skating, until it was decided I should concentrate on academics. I was quite disappointed. I loved the freedom of moving over the ice and the strategy of jockeying for position.”

“And the danger of going very fast.” 

“Yes, that too,” he admitted.

They made a circuit around the rink, enjoying the sun on their faces and the breeze in their hair. They watched the other skaters: mothers and fathers guiding children around, teenagers jostling each other, a few older couples gracefully dancing across the ice. Some advanced skaters did spins and jumps in the center area of the crowded rink. 

The music playing over the loudspeaker switched to the Christmas Waltz:

“And this song of mine, in three quarter time, wishes you and yours the same thing too” sang Johnny Mathis.

“Can you skate backwards?” Illya asked. 

“It’s been a long time, but I think I can.”

His hands spanning her waist, Illya carefully maneuvered her to face him. Taking her hand in his, he led her into a very basic waltz. After a few moments, she’d mastered the steps. Clair looked up at him and laughed. “Did you learn this as a speed skater?”

“I had a bit of training in figure skating, but never got past the basics.”

They waltzed for another circuit around the rink. When the song changed to “Winter Wonderland,” Illya returned her to his side and they continued skating in synchronization, their arms around each other’s waists. 

“How does this compare to the last time you were here?” Illya asked.

“It’s a lot more fun skating with a partner who doesn’t have to stoop down to my height.” 

Not to mention skating with someone who took her breath away when he held her. She marveled at how easily they flowed together, pushing off in unison, gliding along and changing feet, perfectly in step. 

All too soon, their time was up.

“This was wonderful,” Illya said as he stepped up off the ice, offering her a hand. “I enjoyed it tremendously.”

“Thank you for coming with me,” she said, gripping his hand as she balanced on her skates. Illya’s cheeks were ruddy from the cold, his hair ruffled by the wind. He kept an arm around her as they picked their way to a nearby bench to remove their skates and put on shoes.

They had sandwiches and hot chocolate at Cafe Francais, overlooking the skating rink. Clair watched the skaters over the rim of her cup. A little girl in a red hat with a huge white pom pom skated by with a man whom Clair assumed was the child’s father. The girl wobbled on her skates, and the man took both her hands to steady her. The girl squealed in happiness. Clair felt a piercing sense of loss as she remembered her father doting on her that day so long ago.

“What should we do after lunch?” Illya asked, studying her face. He was nothing if not perceptive. 

“We could look in the shop windows along Fifth Avenue. I know holiday trappings aren’t really your thing, but we could enjoy the display of crass consumerism.” 

“Well, crass is the very best type of consumerism, so count me in,” Illya said. 

After lunch, they wandered Fifth Avenue, enjoying the elaborate window displays. Saks had a mod take on the holiday while B. Altman went with sophisticated blue velvet and silver ornaments in a swirling cascade. A grand Christmas masquerade ball took place in the windows of Henri Bendel. Lord and Taylor featured a turn of the century Currier and Ives look. 

“Would you mind if I stopped in Saint Patrick’s,” she asked. Clair knew he wasn’t a believer, but as usual, Illya was warmly accommodating as he entered the church with her. 

Illya waited near the entry to the church as she walked down the long center aisle to the altar. She made the sign of the cross before moving to the bank of votive candles and pushed a few coins into the slot of the little metal box at its base. Clair took a match from the bin, caught the flame from a burning candle and lit the wick of a fresh votive. 

Kneeling at the altar rail, she prayed for the repose of her parents and grandparents' souls, and for the safety and health of her dear friends. She returned to Illya with a smile on her face, wondering if he felt the blessings from her prayer.

They bought a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor and walked to Central Park. The Christmas lights on the Tavern on the Green caught their attention, and they stopped to listen to carollers gathered there. Later as they rode the carousel, she thought Illya looked younger than she’d seen him in a long time, bringing to mind the quiet young man who came to her school with Napoleon to tell her of her father’s death.

“What are your plans for the actual holiday?” Illya asked as they walked through the park.

“I’m working in the lab tomorrow during the day, and off tomorrow evening. Charlie pulled Christmas day, so I’m free. The Waverly’s have invited me for Christmas lunch.”

“If you’re free at night on Christmas Eve, Napoleon and I will be attending a party at his Aunt Amy’s. He said she’d love to meet you. Apparently he talks about you quite a bit.”

“He does?” She was deeply touched by that. “I’d love to come along.”

“Excellent. She has such an eclectic group of friends; theater people, literary types, academics. And there is always wonderful food.”

The sun was low in the sky as they started walking toward Clair’s apartment. It was growing colder and they both fastened their jackets. They were jostled a few times by the crowds of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Illya protectively linked arms with her as they made their way through the city. 

They passed a Christmas tree lot on a corner a few blocks from her building. The trees were leaned against a wooden frame, be-ribboned wreaths hanging off the tops of the wooden slats. Shoppers milled around, shaking a tree here and there under the watchful eye of the bundled up attendants. Clair inhaled the pine scent and looked at the trees wistfully.

“Is everything all right?” Illya asked.

“Yes, of course. It's just that I’ve been so busy with the new job, I haven’t had a chance to buy a tree. It’s probably silly to get one now, so close to the holiday.”

Illya studied a balsam fir, running his fingers along the needles on a branch. A few needles came away, and he brushed his hands together to knock them off. “You should get one. We regret the actions we don’t take more than the ones we do. I’ll even carry it home for you.”

“Thank you,” Clair said, smiling up at him. “You’re right. It will be the perfect end of a lovely day.”

They browsed the selection of trees left this late in the season. “This one reminds me of Charlie Brown’s tree,” she said, pulling a slightly bedraggled tree forward. 

“Is that Charlie from the lab?” Illya asked. 

“Not that Charlie,” she said, smiling. Illya probably didn’t even own a television set. “It’s a reference to an animated television program. So, do you think this tree is too scraggly?”

“It looks like it needs a little kindness. Or a lot of decoration.” 

“I like a challenge,” she said, looking at the price tag. “$15.00. Seems a bit high.”

“Extortionary,” Illya said. 

They managed to get the tree for $8.00. Illya drove a hard bargain. “I spent a lot of time with the Romani people when I was younger,” he told Clair by way of explanation. The attendant bound up the tree with string to make it easier to carry, and Illya hefted it onto his shoulder. 

“All right,” he said, “Lead the way.” The tree was unwieldy, but Illya didn’t seem to be having any trouble bearing its weight.

They walked a block with Clair in the lead, clearing a path for Illya and the tree. When they passed a bakery, she motioned for him to stop. “I was going to heat some chili for supper. I thought I’d get cornbread to go with it. Do you like chili?”

“I do, indeed. And I wouldn’t mind a break,” he said, shifting the tree and leaning it against the wall. 

“I won’t be long,” Clair said as she opened the door. The bakery was warm and fragrant with cinnamon and spices. Holiday treats were displayed in the glass cases: iced cakes and decorated cookies. Loaves of bread and rolls sat on racks along the wall. 

When her turn came, Clair ordered the cornbread, and picked out an assortment of holiday cookies for dessert. Carrying white cardboard boxes tied together with red and white twine, she found Illya chafing his hands together to warm them. 

Illya groaned theatrically when he lifted the tree back in place on his shoulder. As they neared her building, they passed another tree lot. 

“Clair,” Illya said. “Why didn’t we just buy a tree here, a half block from your place?”

“I forgot this was here. My subway stop is in the other direction, so I haven’t walked this way in weeks. But I’m sure this tree is superior in every way,” she said, gesturing to the tree on Illya’s shoulder.

“Undoubtedly.” 

They arrived at Clair’s building and Illya wrestled the tree through the revolving door and into the elevator. An older couple got into the car with them, the woman sniffing unhappily at being crowded into a corner. When the couple departed at a lower floor, the woman directed a pointed look at Illya and Clair.

“Janice is on the resident’s board,” Clair said. “And she’s not afraid to let neighbors know that their door wreaths are too large according to building guidelines. And God forbid if your doormat is not regulation.”

They got the tree into Clair’s apartment. With the tree leaning against the wall, Illya shrugged out of his jacket. Clair unearthed a couple of boxes from the hall closet containing a tree stand, strings of lights and decorations. 

“Have you decorated a Christmas tree before?” she asked.

“We’re not often in New York for the holidays but I’ve helped Napoleon a few times. Infidel though I may be, I must confess I found it quite enjoyable.”

Together, they got the tree into the stand and Illya tightened the bolts to keep it steady. Putting on the lights was a bit stressful, as they had to check for bad bulbs a few times when all the lights winked out. Finally, the lights in place, they wound a healthy amount of silver garland around and around, figuring the sparsely branched tree needed as much help as possible. 

Clair unpacked the boxes of decorations, lining up the trays of ornaments on the coffee table where she could see them. Most were simple brightly colored glass balls she’d bought at Woolworths after moving into the apartment. A few were special ones she’d gotten in her travels. 

Illya lifted a shiny blown glass ornament out of one of the boxes. It was in the shape of a toy store, one of a set depicting an English village. “These are really lovely,” he said. “They look very old.”

“They are. We had a set like this at the vicarage when I was little, but of course, they weren’t ours to keep. When my father died I spent my holidays with the Waverlys and they had the same set of ornaments. I mentioned that to Mrs. Waverly years ago. She remembered and gave them to me the Christmas I moved into the apartment. She’s a kind lady.”

“I’ve only met her a few times, but she seems lovely. Surveying the tree, Illya asked,  
”Where do we start?” 

“The star on top,” Clair said, pointing up. She retrieved the step ladder from the kitchen and set it by the tree. With the silver star in hand, she climbed the ladder. Balanced on the highest rung, she wavered slightly as she reached to place the star on the top of the tree. Illya put his hands on her hips to steady her and she felt her knees grow weak. She set the star in place, hoping he hadn’t felt her trembling..

As she stepped down, Illya kept his hold of her longer than seemed strictly necessary. His face was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her cheek. She had never before looked so closely into his eyes and found herself overwhelmed by their intense blue. 

It felt as if they stood that way for a very long time. For a heartbeat, she thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to, but it terrified her. It would irrevocably change things between them. 

Illya cleared his throat and took a tiny step back. He looked as startled as Clair felt. 

“Thank you,” she said. “Um, maybe we should finish this so we can eat.”

As they placed ornaments on the tree, Clair stole quick glances at Illya. He seemed very absorbed with the act of selecting a glass ball and finding a spot for it on the tree. When the ornaments were all in place, Illya repacked the empty boxes into the cartons. Clair heated the chili and set the table.

As they ate, she found Illya studying her face as if he were seeing her for the first time. 

“Do I have cornbread crumbs on my mouth?” she asked, brushing at her face.

“Oh no, you’re fine. Perfect,” he said, though his eyes didn’t stray from her. 

“Today was wonderful,” she said. “Every bit as amazing as when I was a child.”

“Thank you for letting me be part of it. You...you’re very special to me.” He spoke solemnly, carefully. 

She felt tears prick her eyes, ducking her head so he wouldn’t notice. The stakes were incredibly high. She and Illya had been friends for years, from when she was a teenager and he a young agent, through her schooling and advanced degrees. 

Illya had always treated her as a valued friend, a peer, in spite of the ten year age difference. She’d been able to talk to him about anything. This was the most important relationship of her adult life. It would be insane to risk losing that.

“As you are to me,” she replied. 

Note:

When I was in highschool, right around the time this story takes place, our chemistry teacher used to make a “chemis-tree” every year. Sadly, he had little control over the boys in the class so things got pretty rowdy, but the tree was nice. It looked like the one in the below link:

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/355151120611003549/?nic_v2=1a1EVnMmQ

Also, fun story--I had this memory of a frothy 1960s rom com that featured skating in Rockefeller Center. The only one I could think of was “Sunday in New York” from 1963 with Rod Taylor, Cliff Robertson and an incredibly young and lovely Jane Fonda, But it looked from the stills like it was a warm weather setting. And right as I was working on this story, it was on TCM and son of a gun, skating in Rockefeller Center! It’s not a great movie, but it’s fun in a silly, glossy “what felt sophisticated and sexy in the 1960s” kind of way.

I did a bit of research beyond the movie. Here are a few pictures:

Rockefeller Center tree 1966--The story takes place in 1967 but I couldn’t find a picture from that year:   
https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/news/g4848/rockefeller-center-christmas-trees-history/?slide=17

New York City Tree Lot: https://wp.zillowstatic.com/streeteasy/2/tree-selction-6dbaa0.jpg


End file.
